


Leader

by WynterSnek



Category: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 05:01:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15811902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WynterSnek/pseuds/WynterSnek
Summary: Leonardo knows he should be better.





	Leader

**Author's Note:**

> *edited because i'm stupid

Some holy deity must have done this for them, Leonardo decides as he feels their rat care-taker straighten his back, harsh and rough. Maybe it had taken pity on their sorry lives and had made the useless excuse of a father ( _he snorts whenever his brothers call him that_ ), turn them into battle hardened weapons.

_Ninjas._

At least, he would’ve believed that, had the red-eared slider been religious in any sort of way. Instead he knows the cruel truth that Splinter wants them to be able to live on their own, so that he doesn’t have to put in an effort to raise them. ( _The others don’t seem to realize this, they’re too caught up in admiring the old rat.)_

At just four years old, Leonardo’s hands grow clammy as he grips the plastic, child’s toy version of a ninja’s weapon, the katanas. He clenches his fists, grinding his teeth as Donatello slumps forward a little. “Softshell, back straight.” The rat is instantly on him, and his genius of a brother quickly follows the command, an uncomfortable expression on his face.

Leonardo trembles as Splinter rounds on him, scrutinizing and judging his every movement, down to the slightest twitch of a muscle. He doesn’t want to be scared, his entire body is screaming at him that the creature before him is elderly and weak. As he is thinking this, the old rat seems to find satisfaction in his stance and moves on down the line, to his youngest brother, Michelangelo. 

The box turtle is far worse than him, and his stomach clenches in sympathy as he notices the visible quivering become full on shakes when Splinter watches him. “Stop shaking you fool. When you are in real battle you will be an easy target for the enemy.” He hisses, tail lashing out.

The box turtle gulps, trying to stand rigid and tall, but the facade falls when the rat moves on to Raphael, his eldest brother. Leo turns his head to watch. Raphael’s posture screams confidence and fearlessness, oozing self-superiority that has Leonardo wanting to be like him.

When they begin their lesson, he is paired against Michelangelo to compensate for size difference. The box turtle is fumbling around with his poorly made nunchucks, and Leo takes pity on his youngest brother, letting him win the sparring match. As he sits down, leaning on his hands, not afraid to relax as Splinter had left long ago, and Mikey leans on his shell, stretching and rambling on about his newest crayons, the red-eared slider watches his older brothers spar.

Black eyes follow the movements of Donatello with his wooden bo-staff, and Raphael with, like Leonardo’s weapons, plastic, child friendly sai, as they fight. Donnie is quick and smart, he slides across the concrete floor and gets underneath Raph only to whack him in the knees in hopes to knock the snapping turtle over. Raphael with his size advantage, even only at five he towers over Splinter and the others, easily avoids this with his weight.

The eldest tries to rush forward, stabbing forward with his plastic sai and trying to catch the wooden staff between the bendy prongs, failing because they are more developed for swords, and, as Leonardo begrudgingly admits with a sour and bitter taste in his mouth, like his weapons. His katanas.

The match ends quickly, Raphael had gotten angry and ended up kicking Don into the wall, although the blind fury subsides instantly as a terrified wail erupts from his older brother’s throat. “Donnie! Sorry! Oh god what have I done?!” Leonardo tunes him out, ignores the steady weight of Mikey leaning on his back as he lowers his head.

He looks at his katana blades, bendable and plastic, and he wonders if he would ever be able to compete with his brothers. Michelangelo is, while young and shy, determined and smart, he has a natural talent for art. Donatello was a genius from hatching, he decides as he blankly watches the softshell comfort their eldest brother, he’s even smarter then all of them combined and then some more.

Raphael is a constant in their lives, strong and brave, always the first to do something scary despite the fact that it could harm him, he’d do it to protect them all. A natural born leader, even with the quick to build anger and his instinctual tendency to lash out when he is stressed.

Leonardo, however, has no redeemable qualities, he concludes, green hands squeezing the plastic hilts of his katanas. He has no natural talent to draw or make any uncomfortable situation bright, he is not noticeably smart, not able to invent something out of a twig and a few stones, and he is certainly no natural born leader, he has so many fears, snakes and tall places and thunderstorms make him cling to his nearest brother, and he would rather take it easy than formulate battle plans.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he wonders when _his_ redeemable quality will surface, and whether it will be useful to the team or not. And if- no, _when_ it does, he hopes it doesn’t disappoint him and his family.

Lifting his head, Leo looks over his shoulder at Mikey, who is still rambling on about art. “Michel.” The box turtle pauses, and looks up with gleaming onyx eyes. “Wanna go see if we can take some of Splinter’s cake? You can have the biggest portion...” he grins, watching the gleam turn mischievous.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“You four are now ninjas.” Leonardo’s stomach clenches with excitement, happiness searing through his veins and making his scales hot. Beside him, Michelangelo is, at least noticeably, the same, black eyes wide with joy. Donnie, on his other side, shifts slightly forward, hoping to grab his gear before any of his brothers.

Splinter mumbles something more, something which Leonardo knows is an insult, and then he waves his tail dismissively, hairless feet padding against the stone floor. “Have fun, you brats.” He grunts, walking to their main room to watch t.v.

His three brothers instantly dash forward, racing towards their weapons. As he had suspected, Donatello was the first to launch, springing forward, however, Raphael uses his weight to knock him off course. Michelangelo is trailing pathetically behind, and Leo feels frustration building in his gut.

Jumping forward, he lands onto Raphael’s shell, ignoring the sting of his spikes digging into his scales, and his hands fly up to his older brother’s eyes, covering them and sending the snapping turtle veering left, away from the table, towards the stairs leading to the dojo.

Waiting for the right moment, Leonardo leaps off and lands on Donatello, who shares the same height, weight and age as Leo. Ignoring the sudden cry of pain near the dojo stairs, he clings onto Donatello’s neck, slowing him down just enough for Mikey to make it to the table and snatch his nunchucks up.

“I got here first!” the youngest sticks his tongue out, painfully oblivious to the sabotage in the race. “And, I get first pick to the color by default!” the box shell turtle shouts, turning to the table and humming in thought.

By the time the turtle has picked his color, orange, by the way, Raphael has raced to the table, instantly grasping the red cloth and lazily throwing it over his head in a bandana shape, the long tails flowing down his shell. Donatello rolls his eyes, glancing between the two remaining colors once before throwing his purple cloth around his head, much like Raph, but in a cleaner and less rugged state.

Slowly making his way forward, Leonardo ignores the annoyed glares coming from his two oldest brothers. “Why, thank you! My dearest, younger brother.” He makes a show of picking the long, velvet blue clothing out of Mikey’s hands, wrapping it around his head like the box-shelled turtle had, as a mask.

“Look at that! The blue really brings out your stripes, bro!” Mikey leans forward, inspecting the color distinction between red, green and blue. Leo nods dumbly, half listening as he tightens the knot around his head, the long tails flowing down his shell.

Turning to his weapons laid out on the table, he reaches out and grips the hilts, clenching his fists and breathing deeply with effort as he picks them up. They were much heavier than he would’ve thought. Shifting the swords around, he inspects the smooth and shiny metal, gleaming from the lightbulb hanging by a thread above.

He wonders where Splinter would’ve even gotten these, and why he would’ve cared enough to get them useful weapons that didn’t pop with the slightest pressure like his old and trustworthy plastic katana. Chalking it up to Donatello making these, his hands raise, the weight sliding evenly in his grip.

Hearing the clang of metal, he turns around and watches Raphael twirl his own metal sai around in his grip, grinning as he splays them against his forearm in a natural fighting stance. Donnie is inspecting his bo-staff, eyeing the purplish glint and acting as if it was the first time he had seen it. But Leo knows better, even more so when the softshell picks the heavy pole up and twirls it around with little effort, confirming that he had been practicing with it all night.

More frustration bubbles up in his gut, annoyance welling into his veins as his fists clench and his teeth grind. Turning towards his youngest brother, he watches the orange clad turtle fumble with the well-made weapons, the weight throwing him off to where they drop to the floor with a clang of wood and chain hitting stone.  He makes a noise of irritation as he bends down to pick the nunchucks up. Feeling his emotions fly back into check as he watches his younger brother, he grins foolishly and slides his katanas into the leather holsters on his back, ignoring the twinge of discomfort from the added weight on his shell.

Clapping his box shell turtle brother on the shell, grinning even wider when black eyes blink up at him. Nodding towards their older brothers, he hums in thought, “You just got new paint, right? Y’think Donnie would mind washing himself with it?” he taps his chin in false contemplation, hoping to persuade Mikey into following his scheme even though he knows the youngest turtle had been on board from the beginning.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Eyeing his immediate older brother warily, they circle each other, and he shifts his katana in his hands, feeling the one still sitting in its holster on his shell weigh him down. Clenching his jaw, he watches the sure and smooth movements of Don’s green feet, sweeping over the concrete floor in confident motion. Gulping with a conscious effort to be quiet, he tenses his muscles, ready to set his flimsy plan into action.

Sprinting forward, he brings his katana to his side like a spear, playing up the part to make a stabbing motion in order to trick Donatello into guarding. He knows the softshell thinks ahead in every situation, wether it be video games or cooking, and Leo hopes to use that to his advantage.

Glancing up into the purple turtle’s eyes, he watches the calculations fly through the genius’s brain, and just as Leonardo has planned, Donnie twirls his staff in his hands, and angles it to knock the katana out of Leo’s hands. As he gets closer, his hands grow clammy and he feels the hilt of the katana sliding free of his grip. Clenching his jaw, he waits for the last moment and then sweeps to the left, completely avoiding the spinning bo-staff.

He watches recognition and then frustration pass through Donatello’s eyes, and quickly he shifts the staff and knocks Leo’s sword away, only to feel the hilt of another hit the center of his forward, making him flinch back and see stars for a few moments. Shaking his head, he glares up at a smug and grinning Leo, who shrugs and picks up his fallen katana.

“T’was only a matter of time before your forehead became your enemy.” He jokingly knocks on the cloth covered forehead, shifting his heavy katanas into their sheaths on his shell.

“Hardy har har, Stripey.” A flick on the side of his head makes Leo snarl, crossing his arms as Donatello raises to full height, now only a few inches taller then him. Brushing himself off, Don adjusts his newly made battleshell, not taking notice of Leonardo’s hopeful glance toward they’re sensei.

The rat, to the red ear slider’s dismay, has not seen a thing, as he had passed out long ago. Leo grinds his teeth until he is sure they’ll become dust, and he breathes in deeply, trying to calm himself before his long hidden rage leaks out.

Turning to look at his brother as he twirls his staff one last time before shortening it and strapping it to his synthetic shell. “Isn’t that thing heavy?” Leo questions, inspecting it with fake interest. “When we eventually get into real fights, you’ll be an easy target from being so slow.” He grins smugly, a little pride leaking through when he sees the obvious irritation from Donnie.

“As far as I know, _you’re_ not the genius here, younger brother.” Leonardo bites back an insult, crossing his arms even if he knows it shows his anger. “Me, being the all knowing terrapin I am, made it with lightweight but durable materials, such as-”

“Yeah yeah Einstein. Keep your geek language to yourself.” Leo chuffs with more spite then he intended, and guilt washes through him when he see’s Donatello’s eyebrows twitch downwards. Before he says anything else, he turns away, watching Mikey and Raph duel.

Michelangelo flips onto Raph’s shell, bouncing around to keep his balance as his nunchucks spin in the air. To counter this, the snapping turtle bucks and shakes and spins wildly, hoping throw his baby brother off. Much to Leo’s disgust, this happens but his youngest brother is far from done.

He zips around Raphael’s larger stature, confusing the snapping turtle until he finally catches the box turtle and pins him down. In shock, Mikey bolts into his shell, instinct to defend himself taking over more than reason. With the spar now over, Donatello rushes forward and coaxes Mikey out.

As Leonardo makes his way over with slow and careful steps, he watches Splinter, eyes shifting from him to Raph, biting his lip when the seemingly sleeping rat’s ear twitches.

 .

 .

 .

 .

 .

_He pretends to be happy when Splinter, while lazily, makes Raphael the official leader later that night. They all knew he was their leader. He was the oldest, the biggest and the strongest._

_He ignores the vile part of his mind whispering that he is better than all of them combined and he deserves the title as leader._

_Or, at least, he_ tries _to._

_._

_._

* * *

 

Slashing his _Ōdachi_ through the air, he snarls in frustration when _the stupid portal doesn’t open_ , sweat running down his face and being soaked up blue mask. Straightening his back, he pants, glancing up to the orange sky, wincing when he realizes the sun has moved from when he last looked up.

He’s been at this for hours, trying to open a portal on some random rooftop in New York City. His strong determination weakened as minutes turned into hours, and now he was close to begging. Raphael and Michelangelo has theirs down, days after they had gotten the weapons.

Gulping in air, he huffs and leans on his sword. His shell-cell rings for the hundredth time, and like all the times before, he ignores it, watching it vibrate on the ridge of the roof, the stupid tune that Michelangelo had picked playing loud and clear.

Rubbing his face, he sighs, trudging forward to pick it up and finally answer it, when the tune shuts off, and he pauses mid step, waiting a few seconds just in case they called again. When those few seconds are up and the old cartoon theme song doesn’t play, he clenches his jaw and turns to his _Ōdachi_ laying on the ground, picking it up and getting back into a stance.

“They’ll probably call back again.” He assures himself, muscles screaming in agony at the pose he has forced them into for hours on end.

 .

 .

 .

They don’t call again. And the portal never opens.

Leonardo sits on the side of the roof, baby blue mask now a dark hue because of the rain pelting off of his scales. Rubbing his eyes, he watches the foggy streets and the humans racing around, some hold umbrellas and some hold makeshift shelters over their heads as they run to and fro.

Rolling his shoulders, he looks skyward, blankly watching the dark sky, the sound of rolling thunder loud above him and he braces himself for what comes next. “Five, four, three…” He counts down, closing his eyes, anticipating-

 

_BOOM!_

 

The crash of thunder makes his spent muscles twitch, though he forces himself to stay calm. He knows back at home in the sewers, Mikey is probably scared out of his mind, either hiding underneath his blanket on his bed, or hiding with Donnie in his lab.

Leo would’ve played along too, staying close to Raph and keeping his scared brother act up, because they expected him too, because a long time ago he was terrified of thunderstorms, and they would never assume he would’ve grown out of it. If he acted like he was now, they would be weirded out, confused as to why he was acting different.

Watching the purplish-white electricity strike down, streaking across the grey sky, he looks back down to the city, the bright streetlights pale in comparison to Mother Nature’s natural lighting. Most of the humans have abandoned walking, the streets are now only filled with cars, _driven_ by humans.

Turning to look at his _Ōdachi,_ he watches the metal glimmer and shine in the rain, watches the lightning brighten it even more, and he sighs, picking it up with heavy hands and standing up slowly, passing one last, longing look up towards the grey sky before leaping away, back to the hidden alleyway where the manhole cover to their home is.

 .

 .

 .

 .

The next morning, he is greeted with suspicious eyes, although he ignores them in favor of grabbing the cereal first and eating fast, claiming the bathroom right after because he never gets the choice of warm water, and it’s nice for a change.

During training, he is forced to fight against Donatello because they don’t know how his weapon’s power would react to the others. The portal never opens during training either, and he watches bitterly from the ground, as Donnie pins him down, he watches the bright red and yellow lights of Mikey’s and Raph’s magical powers lighting the room up.

“Get off me.” He hisses with spite, his legs kicking out and hitting Don in the plastron, hard enough for the turtle to get up and clutch his stomach.

“Leo!” The genius grunts in pain, watching with one eye open as the red-eared slider snatches his _Ōdachi_ and storms out of the room, leaving the other two to watch their brother with wary eyes. Crossing the main room, he glares at the ground, passing by the big screen that Splinter is watching.

“Blue? Move out of the way!” the rat snarls, eyes harsh and hateful as Leo stomps out of the lair, breaking into a run so his brother’s wouldn’t catch up. The other three glance out of the dojo, eyeing each other with questioning looks.

 .

 .

 .

Slamming his sword onto the brick, he snarls with fury, grabbing at his gloves and ripping them off, and slapping them onto the rooftop. He glares hatefully at the _Ōdachi,_ clenching his bare fists as he narrows his eyes until they close, teeth bared.

“Why won’t you work!?” He roars, kicking the _stupid_ sword, the sound of it skidding across the concrete ringing in his ears. It hits the side of the roof with a thud, and he has half the mind to kick it again, because he doesn’t _care_ if it breaks. “It’s already broken.” He snarls to himself, crossing his arms across his plastron.

Feeling his emotions well up, he glances away from the scratched up sword, towards the city streets crawling with humans. Sighing, he moves towards the edge, sitting down and swinging his feet forward, letting them hang off the side. Straight across from him, there’s a billboard advertising a bar.

“The Best Ladies in Town.” He snorts, curling his toes at the thought of alcohol. The first time he had any, Leo had to sneak it past his brothers. Eventually, when he locked himself in his room, he chugged it back, though it barely made a difference to his state of mind, but _gods_ could he go for some right now.

Rubbing at his eyes, Leonardo grimaces at the wetness gathering there. Leaning backwards, his fingers trail over his sword, reaching his gloves and grasping them in a tight grip. Slipping them on slowly, he stretches his fingers, ignoring the tears running down his face as his eyes rise from his hands, to the streets of the city. He _really_ wants to go get some drinks.

He knows mutants are readily accepted nowadays, he can tell from the various mutant run shops selling goods to the people of New York, but most _normal_ humans would rather keep their distance from the genetically modified creatures. If he were to just waltz around down there, with his massive _Ōdachi_ tied to his back, Leonardo is sure there would be mayhem.

His brothers would’ve left their weapons behind, but he is not his brothers. Even if he hates it more than he hates Splinter at the moment, it still ensures a sense of security, and he cannot leave it far behind. He even sleeps with it in his room, just in reach beneath his bed if the need to protect ever popped up in the middle of the night.

Watching the shining metal for a moment, he clenches his fingers together and picks it up, strapping it to his shell and breaking into a sprint to jump across the rooftops and make it to the nearest mutant friendly pub, thinking of a plan in order to convince the bartender he is old enough to even drink in the first place.

 

* * *

 

 

The bar is run by a pigeon, who eyes Leonardo with beady eyes. “Whad’ya want?” the thick Brooklyn accent reminds him of Raphael. Glancing up at the menu, he reads the various exotic names, though his mind is far off, thinking of why only Raph picked the accent up. And more importantly, _how._ They didn’t even _live_ in Brooklyn.

“Just a pint of beer.” He grins awkwardly, tapping his fingers against the counter as the pigeon man nods stiffly, walking away. Turning to look over his shoulder, he watches the mutants and humans mingle, different colours, some natural and some bright mix and blend together.

A loud thump makes his head snap back, the tails of his mask whipping harshly against his neck. The pigeon is in front of him, eyes hard as he hold the beer in his feathery grip. Hand reaching out to take it, the mutant squawks in annoyance. “Four dollars.”

Leonardo blinks, watching the bird for a few moments before digging through his pouch strapped to his hip, fishing out the paper bills and slapping them into the mutants feathered hands. “Here you go, my good man- er, bird.” He grins again, snatching the pint of alcohol and tipping his head back as he sips on it greedily.

As the bartender walks off, counting the money quietly, he swivels in his seat, watching the game on the t.v, idly drinking the beer. He never understood the appeal of sports, he and Donnie always fought with Mikey and Raph over the channel. Most of the time they would give in to their baby brother’s sad eyes and leave the soccer channel on, but it never meant they _liked_ it.

“Hey, tortoise.” The sudden feminine voice makes him choke on his beer, eyes watering as he coughs. Turning his head to glare, he feels his eyes falter, though he keeps the act up.

“ _Turtle,_ actually. There is a huge difference.” He snorts, clasping his hands together as he eyes the women before him. He smirks, tilting his head back to drink the last of his beer while keeping eye contact-

“Anyways, couldn’t help but notice the big _Ōdachi_ out there. Wouldn’t happen to be yours, would it?” he promptly spits his alcohol back into the cup, turning to glare at her. “Considering your gloves and the type of gear you have on, you must be able to use it.” She continues, eyeing up with a dangerous look.

“Are you implying something?” he chuffs, closing one eye and leaning on his hand, finally giving himself the chance to _look_ at her. Black hair, pale skin, a dark jacket over a white shirt accompanied by grey jeans and black shoes. _Edgy_ was the only word that came to mind, as he eyed the deep red tattoo on her neck, covered by the hood of her jacket.

“No. But I did see you having a fit and kicking the damn thing around on that rooftop a while ago. It’s super easy to follow a whiny brat around.” She hisses, leaning closer. His muscles lurch, wanting to lean back, away from her, but he stands his ground, maintaining eye contact.

“Stalkerish much?” He spits out, crossing his arms as he glances at the back door, where his _Ōdachi_ lays, abandoned on a dumpster. “Besides, I had a good reason to kick it around.” With that, he chugs the beer back, ignoring the twinge of disgust when he remembers he spit it out. She eyes him quietly, watching him slide the cup away, tapping his fingers on the counter. “What?” he growls, uncomfortable with her staring.

“The name’s Karai.” She waves the bird bartender over, eyeing him for a moment longer before she orders. “I’ll have an _Old Fashioned._ Terrapin over here-” she taps her chin, scanning the menu once more, “Will have a _Daiquiri_.” She finishes. He opens his mouth, ready to say no but the pigeon has walked away.

“I can’t pay for it. I only brought enough for some be-” her finger on his lips shushes him, and he furrows his brows, going cross eyed as he glares at her.

“Shut up, I’ll pay for it.” Karai smirks, splaying her fingers apart to look at her maroon nails, long and shiny. “You still haven’t told me _your_ name. It’s a bit rude.” She grins, dark eyes flashing to his. He bites his lip, leaning on his hands as he watches her.

“Leonardo.” He says quietly, looking over to the approaching mutant bartender. “You can call me Leo, though.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> WOO! Man, this took forever! A lot of this was made before the episodes were released, believe it or not. I wanted to do a ton more with Leo's opinion on leadership but I didn't get around to it, so this sort of drifted off towards sad angst.


End file.
